


i'll be buried here with you

by quinnking



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, short fic, tw guns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-09
Updated: 2014-11-09
Packaged: 2018-02-24 16:01:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2587451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quinnking/pseuds/quinnking
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's laying on the ground, hopefully in peace, in a pool of crimson.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i'll be buried here with you

**Author's Note:**

> listen to the song skulls by bastille.
> 
> based on spoilers and speculation for future episodes.

_when our lives are over and all that remains are our skulls and bones, let’s take it to the grave_

**_I_ **

She’s pictured this moment very many times in her mind but never in her wildest dreams did she expect to be here, and especially not this soon.

Her hands are trembling, something that hasn’t happened to her in a while, and that frightens her more than it should. _This_ frightens her more than it should. She doesn’t want to let that on.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs as he kneels down in front of her.

But it’s not. It’s not okay.

And she understands. _She does._ She knows it’s her duty, as his friend and as his second in command. This is her job, this is what she needs to do. This is his final request and she’ll be damned if she doesn’t abide by it.

“Melinda,” he rasps.

It’s getting worse, and it’ll only get worse, and she truly knows that. Deep down she knows he can’t be saved, that it’s safer for her and Skye and all others on their team (and more importantly, Phil, it’s safer for Phil; it’s not his fault, never his fault).

He’s reaching up and for a split second, she thinks he’s going to touch her. She’s not sure if it’ll be wise or not to let him, so she raises the gun and it’s hardly touching him. Until he inches close enough for the metal to touch his skin.

He holds the shaking barrel to his forehead and she closes her eyes; she sees black and red.

It’s entirely too loud, the ringing in her ears going on for so long that she’s not sure it’ll ever subside. It’s like Bahrain all over again, she’s covered in someone else’s blood; someone else she was striving to save.

He’s laying on the ground, hopefully in peace, in a pool of crimson.

She drops the gun, away from his body, and it’s then that she notices that she’s quaking. Her whole body is numb, as if she’s floating, dreaming (and she wishes, oh how she wishes she was dreaming, that she didn’t have to kill _him_ ).

For the first time in a while, she cries. Weeps, for him. Drops to her knees, denim seeped red with blood, but she can’t find it in her to care.


End file.
